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[grice]

Who: falco grice, others, and you!
What: a catch all for the month including a player plot, general prompts and event prompts in the comments, all open!
When: december; date will be in the header if any!
Where: waves hands at too many places

Content Warnings: possession, violence, gore, self harm, child death, war imagery, child soldiers, racial oppression, genocide, forced experimentation, torture, mutilation, gun violence (against children)


see below for open prompts of all kinds! if you have any questions or would like to plot something specific, hmu at liberos!

Comments

[grice]

[ udo (the translator, the one with the glasses) sucks in his lips and goes wide eyed, looking between the witch and the wounded soldier. all of those in immediate vicinity have their attention taken before quietly scurrying back to their posts, without saying a word— falco, on the other hand, continues to watch luna with with both surprise and worry; he doesn’t wish for the higher ups to hear, who knows what would happen to her for speaking out of line, for insubordination— even if she truly wasn’t one of them.

when the air actually seems calmer than it’s ever been, falco too, brings his tense shoulders to an ease, dipping his head in acknowledgement. his voice goes quiet, soft and careful of the ears around them. once he’s finished his tending, he finds a spot, with his back against the dirt trench wall, to rest by her side. ]

Thank you, Miss. [ and now, for a truth that he doesn’t get to spill often (not because it’s a secret, but because he never truly had the chance or situation to say so, ] It makes a difference, if you think that.

[ there’s something missing— ]

I’m Falco.

[creidim]

[ The others slowly fall away in time, back to their duties. Luna stands a little longer — her eyes burning into the wounded soldier's face before she pulls away to go and sit. She needs a moment to recollect herself. This place is not hers, and she needs to find a way back to Trench. Perhaps it might simply come back in time, all she can really go is wait.

The boy comes back to her once he's done. She looks up, her brow pinching slightly as he thanks her. Of course she thinks that; he risked his life for that soldier. An enemy one, no less. Even if the idea of keeping him prisoner doesn't sit easy in her, it means the alternative of death is off the table. She hopes. Perhaps they'll treat him kindly. Kinder than she was treated. ]

Doing the right thing is sometimes very difficult. [ Life-threatening, in this case. ] And you did it anyway. It was brave.

[ There's a small smile. ]

I'm Luna.

[grice]

[ some form of odd recognition sparks through falco’s eyes— for some reason he distantly remembers the name, tries to parse it out of himself. his memory slowly begins to come undone the more he tugs on what felt more like the present to him. so he asks, with careful words and tentative remembrance: ]

You’re . . . Aren’t you Peter’s—?

[ he trails off the words, but clearly ends it with a question— just as the clip of cloven hooves thud against beaten earth and the crystalized antlers of the mourning stag begin to rise above the trench’s line of sight.

it seems like luna won’t have to wait long, to return to wherever she had remembered being in beforehand. ]

do you want to keep going with them back in Trench or wrap here? I'm good with either!

[creidim]

[ Her expression gives an answer before she can speak: Aren’t you Peter’s—? She brightens at the mention of the name, eyebrows raising and the barest hint of a smile curling at the corners of her mouth. He knows Peter, and in turn about her. Which... isn't surprising, really.

But the sound of hooves makes her look up, the smile slipping into a look of open wonder. Luna slowly gets back to her feet to get a good look, mesmerized by the sight of it. She's... read about this creature, Rituals of Trench. And while some kinds of illustrations are not nearly as accurate, there's no mistaking it: a great white stag, a circle of icy antlers. It's beautiful.

And then, quietly, she realises: a Winter Mourning brought her here. That's how she ended up in this boy's memory. ]

The Winter Mourning Stag. [ Spoke in a whisper. ] It comes when it's time.

[ Time for the memory to end. ]

we can wrap up here and handwave the trench meet, if that's okay!

[grice]

[ —she was. that's all that was needed for falco to understand, and while he doesn't quite smile, his own features seem soft and uplifted. the mourning stag raises itself beautifully, and now it feels cold as the memory of this place dims, the people hum rather than speak, and the blasts or gunfire is nothing but a whispering pop. it's as if he were about to sleep again and couldn't keep his consciousness awake for too long, but he could for this, he thinks, and raises his hand to get a hold of luna's sleeve in a tender tug, one that only hopes to get her attention. ]

Can I find you, Miss Luna—?

[ he hopes she heard that, because he would. they'd have plenty to talk about, that was for certain. ]

that works! ❤

[creidim]

[ It's an oddly peaceful end to a moment so loud and chaotic, like the hushed quiet of a snowy scene. She feels tired, but pleasantly so. That she might simply melt into sleep in a few seconds. Until she feels the gently tug of her sleeve. It certainly does get her attention; even if she's slow to react.

She manages to drag her gaze from the Mourning Stag, eyebrows raised in curiosity for a moment. Can he find her—? She raises a finger to her face, points to her eye. ]

Gaze. [ Where he might find her. And then she smiles gently with a single nod. ] You can find me.